The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  ‘Was there a painting?’ Charlotte asked bluntly, and Travis knew that he had to get her away from the site; all tactful thought seemed to have emptied from her head.

  Once more the estate agent looked uncomfortable, and Travis felt her withdrawing. ‘Why do you ask?’ she asked.

  ‘My wife’s a bit of an art enthusiast,’ he said glibly, steering Charlie away from her fixed glare at the crater. ‘And we’re always on the lookout for antiques. You never know what you might find. Is there somewhere we could go for a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, please, my treat,’ Marie said, smiling broadly. ‘Follow me.’

  Travis felt a little bad as they followed Marie across the village green and into a small tea room. The estate agent was obviously thinking that she had landed a sale and no doubt a fair sized and rare commission into the bargain.

  The tea room was quaint but looked authentic. The sign outside read: ‘The Little Teapot’. The front was painted white with a large bay window jutting out from under the sign. There were a multitude of hanging baskets with overflowing colour and perfumed aromas. The doorbell jingled as they entered and an elderly woman sprang out from the kitchen as though on a pulley.

  ‘Customers for you, Mrs Rutherford,’ Marie called out brightly and loudly as she led them to a table. ‘She makes the best cakes that you will ever taste, but she is a mite deaf these days.’

  Travis tried to smile warmly as the elderly woman looked them up and down, but it felt as though she was seeing straight through him.

  ‘Do you need a hand, Mrs Rutherford?’ Marie shouted into the kitchen as the old woman turned away and the sound of rattling crockery sang out.

  ‘The day I need help from anyone to carry a tray, Marie O’Conner, is the day that I’ll be carted out in a wooden box. And stop shouting at me, for Pete’s sake. I’m not half as deaf as you young’uns seem to think.’ Travis grinned as the woman laid a tray of china tea cups down on the table and turned to go back to the kitchen.

  ‘We didn’t order,’ Charlotte whispered.

  Marie laughed. ‘You never do here. You get high tea no matter what you might have wanted when you came in.’

  ‘It seems like a lovely place to live,’ Charlotte said, and Travis was glad to see that she seemed to be more herself again.

  ‘That it is,’ Mrs Rutherford said, returning with an enormous tea pot in one hand and a stacked metallic cake holder in the other.

  Travis’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Easy, dear,’ Charlotte said, catching him drooling. ‘You’re supposed to be on a diet, remember?’

  ‘Bah, there’s nothing of him,’ Mrs Rutherford said. ‘You’ll need those extra layers when the winter rolls in.’

  ‘Listen to the woman, dear,’ Travis said through a mouthful of sponge. ‘She sounds like a wise woman.’

  ‘Is it the Ahearn place you’d be looking at?’ the old woman asked bluntly.

  ‘I think so,’ Travis replied. ‘The plot across the square – the one that had the fire.’

  ‘Bad business all round that was,’ Mrs Rutherford said. ‘I knew there was doom on the horizon when I saw the Dullahan stop outside that house.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what’s a Dullahan?’

  Travis caught the look Marie gave him just before she rolled her eyes.

  ‘And you can stop rolling your eyes, Ms O’Conner,’ Mrs Rutherford said. ‘You’re not too old to feel the weight of the back of my hand. A Dullahan,’ she said, speaking kindly to Charlotte, is a headless horseman who rides an equally headless horse during the dead of night, and wherever he stops a mortal dies. I saw the horseman on a cloudless night clear as day. He stopped right outside the Ahearn place and the next day we all know what happened.’

  Mrs Rutherford walked back to the kitchen area as a phone rang behind the counter. ‘It’ll be nice to see some fresh blood in the village,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ Marie said, remembering to whisper. ‘Don’t forget where you are. This is a small village full of the kindest and warmest people that you could possibly hope to meet, but superstitions run deep here. Some of the older folk will tell you that if you come across a crowing hen or a whistling girl, both are considered bad luck. You could fill many a book with the old wives’ tales that exist in a small Irish village.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt in the fire?’ He couldn’t help asking in spite of his own rules of engagement.

  ‘Oh look, it was a bad business all round,’ Marie whispered. ‘You were asking earlier about a painting. There was one,’ she added, and Travis noticed that she crossed herself unconsciously as her expression darkened. ‘I don’t mind saying it gave me the creeps.’ She laughed without much humour.

  ‘Well, I’ve always had a bit of an interest in the supernatural,’ Travis said with a shrug. ‘I’ve got quite a collection of antiquities at home. Did the painting survive the fire? I’d love to take a look at it. Is it at the auction?’ He looked on as Marie seemed unsure whether or not to even discuss the painting any further. ‘You know it just occurred to me that we don’t even have your number to call you about the auction. We’re going to be moving around a lot and the phone reception isn’t great where we’re going to next. There’s probably no point in me giving you our number so I’ll need yours. I think that we are very interested,’ he said playing to her hopes and hating himself a little for doing so. ‘Very interested, indeed.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Marie answered brightly. ‘Here,’ she said, taking a card from her jacket pocket. ‘My office number, and home number. As soon as the auction is set I’ll make sure you have a front row seat.’

  ‘And the painting?’ Travis said.

  ‘Yes, that will be up at the antiques auction in Wexford. Here, I’ll jot down the address,’ she said writing on the flipside of the business card.

  Travis took out his wallet to pay for the tea.

  ‘Oh, hush now. Put that away,’ Marie said. ‘I told you it was my treat. And I’ll hear from you about the auction for the plot?’ she asked a little desperately as they all stood up to leave.

  As he and Charlotte made their exit, Travis turned and smiled as best he could. ‘Of course, Marie.’

  ----------

  Travis was entranced by the village of Ballytona. It was a small and hushed community with glorious scenery and coastline. He felt a genuine stab of regret that his conversation with Marie the estate agent was only subterfuge. He could honestly see himself living out his days here in quiet retreat.

  Lunch at the village pub was a hearty affair. There were no backwater stares and silences upon their entry. No piano clanging to a halt when they walked in, or needles slipping on jukebox records. On the contrary, they were inundated with well-wishers and back slappers. It was a warm and friendly welcome and they both felt at home.

  When they walked back into the hotel grounds later that afternoon, Travis stayed outside a while longer enjoying the late afternoon sun that had finally made an appearance. The gardens were lush and green and the floral décor a delight to his eyes.

  Feeling sanguine as he surveyed the grounds, he tried to plan ahead. If the painting was just sitting in an auction house a few miles up the road in Wexford, what then? Could he simply bid for the painting and walk out with it under his arm? He had checked their resources before they left the hotel room for the day. He counted the notes in the Vargas envelope and found that there was a little over one thousand pounds left in the kitty. He wondered if it would be enough to buy the portrait, and hoped the auction was a small affair.

  If they did manage to snag the prize, either legally or illegally, what exactly would they do with it? Charlotte’s mission from the very beginning over two decades ago was to find and destroy the painting. He could not bring himself to disagree with the sentiment. However, there was still his promise to his late wife. He had entered this strange play with the intention of completing his assignment with Vargas. The money promised from his benefactor would allow him to fulfil his promise to Amy
and save her gallery as a going concern. He had the initial cheque from Vargas which had cleared the mortgage on the building. But his dream was to save her dream and keep the gallery going, and that was going to require money.

  Charlotte had told him that her finances were tied up with the insurance pay-out from the company Vargas represented. As such, her bank accounts were frozen while his high priced lawyers sought to reclaim the pay-out and prove her family guilty of fraud.

  Travis was pondering such things when he realised that he was not alone.

  ----------

  Charlotte was sitting in the hotel lounge contemplating their next move. The room was large and airy. Long windows flooded the space with natural light. The walls were lined with bookcases in oak and laden with texts both ancient and modern.

  She sat in a spacious armchair with her feet curled up underneath her. The cushions were soft and she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. Her mind was being tugged in different directions. For as long as she had memories, her solemn vow was to avenge her parents’ cruel deaths. For their sake The Montague Portrait had to be destroyed. She had thought her loyalty was absolute. But now her heart was unexpectedly being tugged in another direction.

  She knew that Travis’s original intention was simply to verify that the painting still existed, and if so, to recover it and return it to Vargas. During the slight window between sex and sleep when fences were down and thoughts flowed freely, he spoke a little about his late wife and her gallery. She knew that he had come a long way to believing in the supernatural nature of the painting. But had he come far enough? Did he truly believe that the portrait had to be destroyed before more innocent people died? Sitting comfortably in the lounge, basking in the sun, it seemed to her ridiculous to think about ghosts, possession, and murder through the decades.

  But she knew better. Hugo Montague lived on through that damn painting, and now it seemed that it was her bloodline – the blood of Eleanor – that was in danger. As much as her feelings might have developed for Travis, she still had a lifetime of devotion to her parents to assuage. She hoped it would not come down to choosing between them – for Travis’s sake at least.

  A voice startled her. ‘Penny for them?’

  She turned to find Keeva Brody carrying a large laundry basket of freshly smelling sheets.

  ‘Oh just miles away,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s so peaceful here I’m amazed you ever get any work done.’

  ‘Ah, the mind can be a terrible distraction,’ the landlady said. ‘Aiden always says I’ve got a mind like Swiss Cheese.’

  ‘What? Hard and round?’

  Keeva looked puzzled, then laughed when she got Charlotte’s joke. ‘No, full of holes,’ she said. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Please,’ Charlotte said, standing up and following her out of the room.

  ‘Through here, dear,’ Keeva motioned. As Charlotte stepped into the private kitchen the door closed behind them.

  ----------

  Travis turned to see the face of Aiden Brody. The man’s ginger beard was full and bushy and hid his mouth. But Travis didn’t need to see his whole face to get a whiff of his mood. He could sense the broad scowl nestling beneath the facial hair and was puzzled by the man’s confrontational attitude. At first he put it down to the man’s natural disposition, but now he was growing wary. They had encountered enough aggressive faces lately to last him a lifetime.

  He quickly scanned the area around them and was concerned to find that they were alone and out of sight of the main house. He wondered how long it might take Charlotte to come looking for him, presuming that she wasn’t distracted.

  The landlord looked older than him, but was bigger and in better shape than he was.

  He was tall and broad with powerful shoulders and meaty hands. The hotel had its own farm and Aiden looked as if he had worked every inch of it for a long time. Travis backed up a few discreet paces to give himself a little more room for fighting or fleeing.

  ‘I know why you’re here,’ Aiden said in a low rumble.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Travis replied with as much innocence as he could muster.

  ‘You don’t think that in a small community like this,’ he said, ‘people won’t talk?’

  ‘I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Travis turned to leave but Aiden stepped in front of him, blocking his path with his bulk. ‘You always treat your guests like this?’ he said.

  Aiden placed a large paw on his chest and held him with seemingly little effort. ‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere,’ he said with menace. ‘Not until we’ve had a little chat.’

  ----------

  Charlotte watched Keeva pour the tea. The private kitchen was every inch the country farmhouse. She found it hard to believe that she was discovering unknown levels of domesticity lurking inside her. She had always thought that the idea of a normal life was something that lay deep in her distant past. She was a warrior with a mission and yet she found herself possibly in love, and admiring china patterns, for God’s sake. It was a far cry from hand to hand combat and weapons training.

  ‘How long have you and Travis been married?’ Keeva asked as she busied herself with the refreshments. ‘Not long I’m guessing.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Only to the trained eye. We see a lot of couples here. You can always spot the newlyweds.’

  ‘Well I guess we’re still just finding our way,’ Charlotte said with complete honestly. ‘It’s all kind of new.’

  ‘Well, if you want my opinion, I think you’re going to be just fine.’ Keeva smiled and nodded. ‘You seem to be a perfect match.’

  Charlotte smiled back with reddening cheeks. ‘Speaking of the devil I should go and get him. He’d never forgive me if I ate one of your cakes without him.’

  ‘Oh hush and sit yourself down, girl. Men can soon find a kitchen if they’re hungry enough. Take my advice, you can lead a man easily enough by two of his senses, one of which is through his stomach, and I’m sure that as newlyweds you are already finding out the other.’

  ----------

  Travis looked around, desperately hoping to see the cavalry coming around the corner. Wherever Charlotte was he hoped that she was safe. He wasn’t averse to a little physical confrontation, but it really was her forte, and the farmer looked to be more than a match for him.

  ‘Look I don't know who you think I am,’ Travis said nervously. ‘But I assure you my wife and I are just on holiday, nothing more.’

  ‘Really? So you haven’t been snooping around the village? Spying on the Ahearn place?’ Aiden said, his voice rising in anger. ‘Pumping that greedy cow Marie O’Conner for information about poor Gemma and Frances?’

  Travis tilted his hips and tensed for the attack. The landlord might be bigger, fitter and stronger than him … He paused realising that he didn’t have an answer. ‘So who do you work for,’ he asked playing for time. ‘Vargas? Lochay?’

  ‘Who do I work for?’ The farmer laughed harshly. ‘You’ve got some nerve, you bloody vulture. Sneaking around my hotel, spying on my neighbours, you bloody parasite. Haven’t we suffered enough here without you fucking reporters always trying to dig up dirt? Why can’t you just let the dead rest?’

  Travis suddenly cottoned on to the landlord’s suspicions and assumptions. He couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity. He had been worried that the farmer was part of the conspiracy of violent factions fighting over a haunted painting, when actually the man was mistaking him and Charlotte for mere reporters.

  He opened his mouth to explain when he realised that Aiden’s large face had grown purple with rage over his slip of a laugh. A ham-sized fist whistled through the air. Assuming that the threat had gone, his guard was down.

  The farmer’s hand was like concrete and the blow caught him on the temple, spinning his senses as he sank in a heap to the floor.

  When Aiden loomed over him, fists clenched and a red mist falling, he held up
a hand in surrender.

  A woman’s stern voice startled them both. ‘Aiden Kieran Brody, what in the blue blazes do you think you’re doing?’

  Keeva and Charlotte had just appeared around the corner and Travis could have kissed them both. The landlady’s face was red with shock but it was the look in Charlotte’s eyes that suddenly scared him. She looked at his crumpled form and then at Aiden. He saw immediately that she was about to launch herself at the farmer with deadly intent. The downside to having someone care about you was that they could often lose all reason if you were hurt.

  He dragged himself to his feet and plastered a large grin across his face hoping to head Charlotte off at the pass. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all,’ he said quickly as Charlotte tensed her body with fire in her eyes.

  ‘It bloody well is most certainly not okay,’ Keeva said angrily. ‘What on earth has got into you, Aiden?’

  ‘I told you they were reporters,’ he said sulkily, ‘poking around the fire.’

  ‘And I told you they most definitely were not. I’m so sorry, Mr Hudson,’ Keeva said. ‘This is unforgivable.’

  ‘Oh, no harm done, really,’ Travis said, looking directly at Charlotte as the farmer turned and without another word stomped away.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Keeva said again as her husband moved out of earshot. ‘Gemma was his cousin. Since her … death, and the fire, I’m afraid he’s not taken any of it well. He blames himself for not looking after her more, for not keeping a better eye on her. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Travis said kindly as Charlotte touched his face with delicate fingers. ‘Don’t think any more about it. Grief can do strange things to a man,’ he added, thinking of the well he had fallen into after Amy’s death. ‘But we’re really not reporters, I promise you,’ he said earnestly.

  Keeva nodded. ‘One cup of tea with Charlie told me more than Aiden could get out of a hundred punches. He’s a good man, but not always the most tactful,’ she said, with more affection than Travis thought was warranted.